


glowsticks

by annoyingplant



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Time Skip, they're on a date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24830365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annoyingplant/pseuds/annoyingplant
Summary: “You look like you’re headed to a themed 80s rave, love.” And as much fun as that sounds, they are unfortunately not. Much less than that, they’d simply been ambling through the mall, ducking into stores here and there, when Lev had pulled him into what looks like if a pack of glowsticks had been turned into a clothing shop.“I think I look fun,” Lev counters, doing a little twirl, as if to prove his point.
Relationships: Haiba Lev/Miya Osamu
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	glowsticks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pepsi (Pepsiiii)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pepsiiii/gifts).



> for my dear friend peepsi!!!! ily hope u like this <3

“Samu! Come check me out!”

Osamu looks up from where he’d been idly flipping through one of the fashion magazines provided in the changing area of this store and locks eyes with Lev, who’s in the process of pushing aside the curtain to the changing room he’d been barricading himself in for the last half hour or so.

He steps fully out of the room, hands stylishly stuffed in the pockets of his garish windbreaker. He looks incredibly proud. Osamu’s gaze trails down from Lev’s bright neon green jacket, past his tiger-print shirt, ripped and cuffed mom jeans and mismatched socks, though those, to the store’s credit, he’d come in wearing already, unlike anything else on his body right now. Osamu stops at the neon platform boots, adding another ten centimeters, if not more, to Lev’s already impressive height, then shifts his gaze back up to where Lev is boasting a set of a choker and three necklaces.

He looks atrocious.

“You’re beautiful.” Osamu smiles, a hand reaching out to take one of Lev’s into his own, pulling him gently closer.

Lev grins, puffing his chest out proudly, like a peacock splaying it’s feathers. “Aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Osamu agrees, his other hand hooking fingers in the belt loops of those hideous jeans of his. “Your outfit fuckin’ sucks though. These-” he gives a punctuating tug at the pants, “have to go.”

“Gasp.” Lev smacks Osamu’s hand away, taking a half step back. “Samu, you pervert. We’re in  _ public _ .”

“You look like you’re headed to a themed 80s rave, love.” And as much fun as that sounds, they are unfortunately not. Much less than that, they’d simply been ambling through the mall, ducking into stores here and there, when Lev had pulled him into what looks like if a pack of glowsticks had been turned into a clothing shop.

“I think I look fun,” Lev counters, doing a little twirl, as if to prove his point.

He’s not wrong about that. Though, to Osamu, Lev always looks fun. “If you wear this out, people are gonna end up smitten on the spot. They’re all going to want to follow this handsome stud to whatever horrendous neon party he’s going.” 

He chuckles, gaze drifting from Lev’s face to his chest. If he spent any longer looking at his eyes, Osamu melodramatically thinks, he’d end up having to squint not only because of his literal but also his metaphorical brightness, the glint of his smile when he hears his boyfriend compliment him. “Can’t have that.”

“Fucking smoothtalker.” Lev laughs. Osamu stares. He’s already smitten and Lev knows. “Okay, then,” he continues, taking on a conspiring tone, “What if I pick out a matching outfit for you? Two handsome boyfriends heading to the next rave.”

“As much as I like that idea,” Osamu shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever look as good as you in… this style.”

Lev nods, arms crossing in front of his chest, like he’s thinking about how to solve this problem. “Of course not, anyone would have a hard time keeping up with my handsomeness.”

Osamu finds himself agreeing with this too. He thinks Lev has a certain charm to him, a kind of confidence, almost bordering on arrogance, that makes him look that much better. Then again, he personally thinks Lev would look good in just about anything. Maybe even a potato sack.

Ah. 

He still has potatoes in the pantry.

“You should come over for dinner,” he says plainly, without any preamble. “I’ll make croquettes.”

“Woah!” Lev says with a laugh and Osamu thinks he should invite him over for dinner more often. “What an honor, to have renowned master chef Miya Osamu cooking for me.”

“ ‘m not a master chef.” Osamu says, forming air quotes around the last two words with a quick roll of his eye.

Lev’s brows furrow and he slips his hand back into Osamu’s, lacing their fingers. “Oh no, you’re just successful enough have your own restaurant.”

“That’s not--”

Before Osamu can finish his thought, Lev presses his lips to his, essentially silencing him, before he pulls away, still dangerously close to Osamu, brows still pulled together in a frown. “ **I** like your food! So yes, you are a renowned master chef. Renowned by the great Haiba Lev.”

“That’s very kind of you, love,” Osamu says, connecting their lips in another swift kiss before pulling away. “I didn’t mean it in a self-deprecating way, though.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a certified master chef title.”   
  
“Literally?”

“Literally.”

“Huh,” Lev says, very eloquently. “Well.” He rests his arms on his hips, cheeks puffed slightly, like he’s sulking. Osamu wants to kiss him some more. “I still think you should be one.”

“Well,” Osamu echoes, “Technically I am one. Not certified. But position-wise, since I run my own restaurant.”

“What.”   
  
“It’s complicated--”   
  
“So you are a master chef, Samu!” Lev’s fingers link behind the small of Osamu’s back. He hadn’t even noticed his arms wrapping around him.

“I suppose.” Osamu’s lips form into a thin pout. “Any bumbling fuck up of a head chef could be though. It’s not really a compliment.”

“Irrelevant!!” Lev interjects loudly and Osamu can’t quite help the smile that forces its way onto his face. What a sweet idiot.

Osamu chuckles, pressing yet another kiss against Lev’s jawline, then slowly starts untangling his hands behind him to push him back into the changing room, pulling the curtain shut in one quick motion before Lev even has time to protest.

“Ya know, you never replied to my offer.”

There’s the sound of clothes rustling, then a pause. Silence.

“Huh?”

Osamu laughs. “Are you letting me take you home or not, babe?”

From behind the curtain, Lev scoffs. “Silly, Samu. I thought that was a given.”

It clicks into place in Osamu’s mind, that Lev hadn’t forgotten to reply, he was wired much simpler than that. Of course, Lev was going to come over for dinner, Osamu probably didn’t even need to ask.

“You know,” Lev starts, stepping back out from the changing area, now dressed in his regular street wear, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, cloth mask partially obscuring his face. He says its to prevent being recognized. Osamu glances at the magazine he’d been flipping through with his boyfriend on the cover and part of him wishes Lev’s face wasn’t plastered everywhere. Hard time recovering from how handsome ones boyfriend is, when one has to look at his face everywhere one looks.

At least the whole world agrees with him that Lev is the most beautiful man to walk this earth.

“You know,” Lev says again, standing in front of Osamu now, “I know that outfit was a hot pile of garbage.”

Osamu agrees, “It really was.”

“I don’t get to dress ugly a lot.” Lev rests his cheek on Osamu’s shoulder. He has to lean down for it, and Osamu settles a hand on his waist. “I dunno. It’s a nice break.”

“Lev--”

“And it’s fun watching your stupid face when I show you.”

Lev laughs, face buried in the crook of Osamu’s neck, heartily and sincere in a way that his whole body shakes with it and Osamu can feel it reverberate in his chest from where his hand rests on his waist. He laughs too.

“Right,” Lev cups Osamu’s face with one hand, lips pressing a chaste kiss to his, despite half-missing, “Croquettes, you said?”

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote like three quarters of this while wasted off my ass and let sober me fix it. ty for ur service drunk me
> 
> twitter is @annoyedplant


End file.
